Chapter 65 Gabi
GABI
With this new resolve, I tackle the day with ease and find that joy slips in with every small moment I share with the girls. There’s so much to love here, to protect. These girls are my treasure and dragons be us all, and let us all be dragons for each other.
It’s dinner time when Ivan comes out of his office again. I don’t know if he spent the whole day in there, but he quickly sets the rhythm for our days.
Every evening, I ask for news on Chiara. Every evening, his answer is the same: be patient.
She seems to have disappeared off the face of the Earth, and I should think this is a good sign?
“Given their track record, moya ptichka, they like leaving a body. So far, there’s been no body, so…”
It eats at me, but there is nothing more to do but trust that between Ivan and Dominic, something will come up.
I hate that I’m left out, as always, and I have no clue what to do to change this, to become one of them.
What with Ivan’s obsessive need to protect me, I’m told everything on a need-to-know basis, as if I haven’t already been through worse.
My days might circle around the girls and their needs, Ivan’s around his work, but at night, we share a bed where he makes love to me.
At least, it feels like love to me, but in my head and heart, that first time’s comment hums in the background: two sons, two sons… Two sons. And then I’ll cut you free.
When my period arrives for real in full force, he makes his escape to the harbor office, and I don’t see him for days, only getting curt answers to my consistent enquiries about Chiara.
It hurts. Nights are lonely, and once the girls are in bed, without authorization or even caring to have it, I visit the old Pakhan.
He is irresponsive, but I hold his frail hand and run my thumb over the tattoos on his knuckles.
Unlike the first time I saw them, when they took me by surprise and bulldozed me with a landslide of awful memories, I now have time to study them.
The ink has faded and seems smudged with age, and I don’t know the symbolism of any of these shapes: there’s barbed wire around one knuckle, letters that make no sense to me, and a cross on one hand.
He is slipping away, and when the nurse says any day now, I cry. Maybe Ivan isn’t avoiding me—he is avoiding this.
And then the night comes when I wake up, sensing something’s off.
It’s two in the morning, but I can’t shake my unease.
I pull on my robe, and when I step outside into the corridor, I startle.
The gate is flung open, and Ivan is leaning against the wall looking haunted, hands cupped to his mouth, eyes bloodshot with exhaustion.
Yuri is by his side, his cold blue eye for once wet with tears. “I’ll leave, Pakhan. We’ll talk in the morning.”
“He’s gone,” he whispers to me as Yuri’s footsteps retreat to the stairs. “And thank God. I couldn’t take it anymore.”
I step up and gather him to me. “You loved him. How blessed you were.”
“He was a hardened man, moya ptichka, but he loved us. Left Russia for us, built a whole life for us to secure our future…and now, the worst thing is, I can’t even give him a proper funeral.”
“Why not?”
“I need him ‘alive’ for a few more weeks, until we’ve sorted out this thing with your Russian, with Chiara—”
“What?” I blink in confusion. He’s told me nothing. “What’s going on? What do you mean?”
“I didn’t want you to stress about it. I know you already do, and I had to do something.
I’ve been working with your brothers to bring over the woman I suspect did your piercing.
She might know who the Russian was. She might know where Chiara is, because we can’t track her down at all.
We have our suspicions, but until we have them confirmed—”
My chest tightens. “You’re bringing her here?”
“To Boston. To Matteo’s place. We’re negotiating.”
What a long shot. Everybody who was there that day is dead. The chances this woman is still alive are next to nothing.
“What will you do when you find out who my Russian is?” I whisper, my heart in my throat.
He drops his forehead to mine. “I’ve vowed to kill him, moya ptichka, obviously, so you can sleep at night and be safe forever. Even after…” He trails off, not finishing his sentence.
But I can finish it for him: even after I’ve borne him the sons he craves. He is securing my freedom, when suddenly, all I want is to be caged, here, with him.
“I feel safe here—”
“You don’t know a Russian’s tenacity. Not yet. I won’t stop until he’s dead, because he won’t stop hunting you until he’s found you.” He presses a soft kiss to my temple. “And you have night terrors, moya ptichka. They won’t stop until he is dead.”
I didn’t even know I had those. I thought they were something from my childhood, from the time in Antonio Mancuso’s cellar, and something I’d outgrown. I’ve never slept with someone like I’ve slept with Ivan. Mother Lucia would stay with me when I was much younger, but not since I hit puberty.
If Ivan knew I needed him at night, why did he leave? Why wouldn’t he stay and help me?
This. This awful thing I brought into his house has triggered him. I’m a trigger. My piercing, the same as Darya’s, the coup, how he got shot and had to kill his own men who turned on him, to protect his daughters. He is reliving it all.
I take his face in my hands and pull his mouth to mine. He is tired beyond one sleepless night, and the past weeks, waiting for his father to finally pass, the pressure of finding a needle in a haystack, and being haunted by his own actions must be driving him mad.
“Just be with me,” I whisper against his lips. Just let me love you.
He moans into my mouth as we kiss and backs us up into our room where he hasn’t been for days.
I tug his shirt from his pants and unbutton it, wanting to take my time but also needing him desperately.
He drops his shirt to the floor, and I kiss his chest, up to his bullet scars and down to a hardened nipple which I suck into my mouth.
Ivan groans, his hands in my hair, finding my lips and kissing me deeper.
“I should shower,” he whispers as he pulls away.
“Have me first. I want it, hard and fast, then come back for more.” I’m already wet with need, and it’s been days. “Please, Ivan. I need you.”
With a groan, he eases me onto the bed, and then we turn frantic.
Him at his belt, me at my robe, stripping it off to give him access to my skin, my breasts, my sex as I cradle him between my legs.
He doesn’t even bother shaking off his pants, just pulls out his cock and lets it press against my slit, testing the waters
“You’re always so ready for me, moya ptichka. I love that.”
It’s him. He does this to me. I widen my legs and pull my knees up, offering myself to him.
When he penetrates me, I gasp in relief and pleasure, because I’ve missed this so much.
Him, on top of me, his weight hitting me right at every angle, this fullness inside of me, his scent, an intoxicating blend of Ivan and a day lived in his skin.
“Hard and fast, moya ptichka?” he murmurs by my ear. “Or like this until you come?”
He thrusts into me, unhurried and deep.
“This is perfect.” I already feel the slow coiling of an orgasm in my core. Ever tighter, as he slides out and drives back in, hitting me deep with his cock, grinding against my clit and piercing.
I rake my hands into his hair and pull him to me, our lips soft and open, our tongues in an erotic dance that only adds fuel to the fire. From his breathing, I can sense he’s getting close, and already, I’m barreling toward the edge, ready to leap off and soar.
“I’m going to come, Ivan.”
He grunts, and I tilt into bliss as he fucks me harder, meeting every last pulse in my pussy head-on, maximizing my pleasure. And when he comes, spilling his seed into me, every ripple that rides up his cock meets an aftershock of my own orgasm, and I bite into his shoulder to quieten my moans.
He groans his approval, nipping at my ear and sending chills down my heated skin. “My little savage, how did I stay away so long?”
“I don’t know, but I really wish you wouldn’t.”
When we come down, his lips are tender as they explore my skin, guiding me back to earth so gently, I feel sunk in a cloud. I’m spent, and as he pulls from me, he has me cradled in his arms, close to his chest.
“I needed that, moya ptichka. Thank you.”
I swallow, biting back tears, but his words break me. This man doesn’t understand how deeply I’ve stumbled into love with him, and he can’t fathom why I’d do this for more than human reproduction. He doesn’t believe he’s entitled to more.
He thinks I’m doing all of this out of duty, as if it’s a chore, and not out of love. I don’t know what it will take to convince him otherwise.